The Darkness before Dawn
by Miss Mudpie
Summary: "You have to marry Francis." Speculation turned wishful thinking for the events of 1x13.


I started this before 1x13 aired. It was my hopeful speculation. Now it is just fantasy, but after the whiplash of last night's episode, I figured I would still throw this out into the ether.

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He entered her chambers through the secret passageway, and Mary immediately flew into his arms. "You got my message," she gasped against his neck. "Henry's posted guards outside the door, but the path to the stables should still be marked." She stepped back, grabbing his hand and leading him back into the dark. "We need to leave now, if we're to return by morning."

But Bash stood firm. "Mary." She ignored him, continuing on about roads and plans. "Mary." He pulled her gently towards him. "Look at me." When she refused to meet his eyes he repeated his plea. "Mary, please, look at me."

Finally her eyes met his. "Bash, don't…"

"We need to talk about this."

"What's that?" She looked pointedly at the bundle tied at his feet. "Tell me they are wedding clothes." He didn't answer. "You didn't come here to collect me, did you?"

"No," he whispered after a moment. "I came to say good bye."

Mary pulled away. "We made a vow to each other, right here in this room. You asked me to marry you and I said yes. Nothing has changed."

"Everything has changed."

"Only if we let it."

"Mary." Bash grasped her hands. "Mary, I'm going to say something, something the entire castle is already thinking."

"And probably half the castle has said to me today. You think hearing this from you will make me change my mind?"

"Yes."

He paused, and when he didn't continue Mary stared defiantly into his eyes. "Well then. Say it."

"You need to marry Francis."

"No." She turned again to the passageway.

"You know I'm right."

"We're leaving. Now."

"Mary - "

She wheeled on him. "No, Bash. I'm marrying you. I've chosen you." She voice faltered and broke. "I love you."

He pulled her closed, cradled her face, kissed her lips. "I've waited so long to hear you say those words."

"I know," she murmured. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He tried to grin. "I got to hear them once."

"I would say them everyday if you were my husband."

"And I would always say them back if you were my wife."

"You said once you would always put me before your country, your crown." She reached up to stroke his face. "Why won't you let me do the same for you?"

"Because." He paused to touch his forehead to hers. "Because while I'm just a boy, you have never been just a girl." She shook her head at his deliberate choice of words. "You are a queen, Mary. And while you may love me, you love your people more."

She couldn't contradict him, so instead she buried her face in his chest. Bash held her fast. They stayed like that for a while, clinging to each other, clinging to a hopeless future.

Mary finally broke the silence. "They say Elizabeth is already sending troops to the Scottish border."

"I know."

"Scotland won't survive without France's backing."

"I can't give you France."

"The Vatican isn't going to legitimize you."

"No."

"Even if we married."

"Even if we married," he echoed.

"I have to marry Francis."

"You have to marry Francis."

She lifted her head to look him in the eyes. "And you've come to say goodbye."

"I'm strong enough to let you go, but not to watch you walk away."

"Where will you go?"

"I don't know."

Mary's voice cracked as she asked, "Will you come back?"

"Yes. Eventually. I don't know."

Mary nodded, as if deciding something. "Alright."

"Alright?"

"Alright. I will do what I must. I will marry as queens do – for politics, for her people. I will put Scotland ahead of my heart – tomorrow. But not tonight."

It took him a moment to understand her intentions, but once he did he pulled back, needing distance. "You don't know what you're asking."

"I do," Mary insisted.

"It will only make this harder."

"Can it be any harder? Don't we deserve one night of happiness?" she pleaded. "Bash, we were to be wed tonight. Let us at least have our wedding night." She crossed to stand again before him. "Make love to me, Bash. Claim me."

She expected his reaction to her words to be swift, for him to capture her mouth with his and fling her on the bed.

Instead, he turned and walked to her door –

"Bash!"

- And barred it.

It seemed to take forever for him to come back to her, and once he was he surprised her yet again. With gentle fingers, he undid her braid, letting her dark hair cascade down her back and shoulders. With soft touches, he drew her close. And with tender lips, he kissed her.

The kiss was slow, almost chaste. "You're sure?" he asked, searching her eyes for any sign of doubt.

"Yes," she whispered.

The next kiss was nothing like their last. Bash pressed his lips firmly to hers as one hand tangled itself in the hair at her scalp. His tongue slid against the seam of her lips, and Mary immediately let him in, a low moan catching in her throat. Her fingers fumbled with the clasp of his cloak. Once discarded, she went to work on lacings of his outer shirt.

Bash's hands were busy, too, undoing the snaps down the front of her dress as quickly and carefully as possible. "You wore this the first time we ran away together," he said between kisses.

"Did you want to remove it like this then, too?" she teased, finally undoing his laces and pulling his shirt off, leaving only his shift.

"Yes. I just never dreamed I would." The dress fell from her shoulders into a puddle on the floor. He captured her lips again, a movement that almost caused Mary to trip on the fabric at her feet. But Bash held her steady, lifting her slightly and kicking the dress out of the way. Together, they made their way to the bed.

"Sit," he murmured, kneeling in front of her. Slowly, he undid the ties on her boots, pulling off the left, then the right and repeating the process with her stockings. Mary ran her hand through his hair, leaning down to kiss him again. Bash ran his hands up her legs, over her thighs, bringing the fabric of her chemise with him until it nearly bunched at her waist.

"Lie back."

"Bash, what – ?"

"Lie back," he repeated. One hand gently pushed at her shoulder while the other worked to remove her undergarments.

"What are you doing?" Her voice came out as a gasp.

"What you asked me to do." His breath was warm against her inner thigh. "Claiming you."

And then his mouth was on her.

It felt odd, at first, his lips on hers, his tongue licking at her most intimate places. But then he hit that spot she had only recently discovered herself, a bundle of nerves that had her gasping. She rose up on her elbows to look down at him.

"There?" Bash asked.

Mary nodded, and watched in disbelief as Bash's tongue flicked out to lick her there again. He did it once, twice more, delicate swipes that left her wanting. And then he spread her thighs further and devoured her.

A low moan filled the room, and it was only when she drew in breath that she realized the noise had come from her. She couldn't move, and yet her body did, back arching, hips grinding, hand gripping Bash's hair to pull him closer, closer. Closer to what she wasn't yet sure, but it came nearer when Bash pushed one long finger inside her, stroking her at the same pace as his tongue.

"Bash…"

She was stretched tight, like the string on a lute. And as Bash sucked her into his mouth and curled his finger deep inside her, Mary felt herself snap.

Her spine seized, her breath left her lungs. Pleasure came over her in waves, the strongest first, then softer and slower. Only when it had completely receded did Bash leave his spot between her legs, placing a soft kiss on the inside of her left thigh. For a moment the only sounds were Mary's pants and a soft rustling as Bash removed his boots and shift. He lifted Mary, still boneless, positioning her against the pillows and then joining her on the bed.

"Good?" he smirked.

"Always so cheeky," she scolded, pulling him down for a deep kiss. He tasted different. He tasted like her, she realized, and while this should have alarmed her, it only made Mary's body burn that much hotter.

Bash's lips left hers, skimming over her jaw line, sucking gently on her neck. Mary dragged her fingers down his bare back, relishing the feel of his muscles moving beneath them. She did the same to his chest, down his stomach to the top of his trousers. She felt his breath hitch against her throat as she began to undo the laces.

She pushed them down as far as they would go, and when the trousers became caught around his legs she pushed insistently at his shoulders. Bash complied, rolling to his back and taking Mary with him. Trousers gone, he helped Mary situate herself over him, again running his hands along her thighs.

Under the cover of her chemise Mary could feel him, hot and hard against her. Slowly, tentatively, she moved her hips, feeling herself slide against him. She was rewarded with a low groan from Bash.

"Mary." His hands gripped her hips, stilling her. "Mary, believe me when I say this doesn't matter. I just need to know, so I don't hurt you. Is this…?"

The question hung in the air between them. "No," Mary finally admitted. She lowered her head and her hair fell across her face like a heavy curtain, shielding her.

Bash sat up slightly and carefully pushed her hair back. "Don't hide." He kissed her. "I learned long ago that to have you meant to share you. I'm just glad you were my Mary for a little while."

"I will always be your Mary," she vowed, capturing his lips once again.

"Take this off," Bash commanded lowly when they stopped for breath. Together they lifted the garment over her body. It landed on the floor near his trousers.

She was naked before him, and Bash allowed himself a few long moments to just look. Mary smiled softly down at him. "Good?" she asked, mirth in her tone.

"Good?" Bash repeated. "Not even close." He ran his hands over her bare flesh. "Beautiful." He cupped her breasts. "Transcendent." His thumbs ran over her nipples, and Mary gasped his name. "Perfect." He replaced one thumb with his mouth, flicking his tongue over the nipple before sucking her in deep. Mary's back arched, her hips rocking against him on their own accord. By the time Bash had paid equal attention to the other breast she was quivering above.

"Bash, please."

He flipped them and settled between her legs. Taking himself in hand, he rubbed himself along her folds. Mary closed her eyes at the sensation. Bash positioned himself at her entrance, and then stopped.

"Look at me." When her eyes met his, he began to push into her slowly. "I love you, Mary." She moaned, at his words and at the feeling of him filling her.

"I love you, Sebastian." He was fully inside her. Bash made to move back, but Mary held him fast, both to fully adjust to his size and to keep them fully connected just a moment longer. Her fingertips ghosted along his cheek. "Always."

He kissed her. He kissed her for today, this night. He kissed her for all the times he'd wanted to but had lacked the courage. He kissed her for all the kisses he would never be able to give her.

And then he began to move.

It was slow at first, Bash pulling out and then pushing back in, Mary raising her hips to meet his thrusts. They reveled in each other, in the feel of their bodies moving against each other.

And then, at some unspoken signal, they began to move faster. Their kisses became more frantic. Bash's thrusts became harder, deeper, hitting places inside Mary that made her shake. Their hands roamed, his over her breasts, her hips, hers making light scratches down his back.

That feeling was back, the tightening deep within her. "Bash...God, Bash…"

"I got you," he murmured above her. "Let go, Mary."

When they had almost been caught by the king's guards, after a week on the run, he had held her hand when they jumped off a cliff. It was like that now. With one more thrust Mary felt herself at the edge of a cliff. Her body tensed, and as it did Bash's thrusts became erratic. His face twisted in what looked like pain, but the groan that escaped his lips was one of pleasure. Watching him come apart above her, inside her, is what pushed her off the edge.

She fell.

She shattered.

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"I could give up the throne."

Her words broke their silence. After they had both reached their peaks, Bash had nearly collapsed on top of her, and Mary had held him close, relishing the weight of him against her. Eventually he had lifted himself, rolling onto his back and taking Mary with him. She'd curled against his side, head snuggled against his chest while Bash wound his arms around her. His fingers played idly with the ends of her hair. He stopped now.

"Mary."

"I could. I would. The crown has brought me nothing but trouble. I'd be glad to be rid of it."

"You don't really mean that."

"I hear it rains in Scotland almost everyday. Let Elizabeth take it, and God bless her."

Bash craned his neck to look at her in disbelief. "Elizabeth, the Protestant queen?"

"So you defend pagans' view of God but not the Protestants'?"

"Scotland is your home."

"A home I haven't seen since I was an infant. The convent is more home than Scotland. So yes," she said, nodding her head. "Yes, I will give up the throne and we'll leave. Where shall we go?"

"Mary, this is mad! Do you think my father will just let us stroll out of here? We'll be on the run the rest of our lives, not to mention the fact that you will surely regret this – "

Mary placed a finger on his lips. "Please, Bash."

He understood, then, what she was asking. "Alright." He kissed her softly, then settled them back in their original positions. "Alright. In the morning we'll tell Father he can go hang himself, but we're leaving. England is no longer his. I, for one, cannot wait to see his reaction. Do you think he'll cry?"

Mary giggled against his chest.

"And then we'll leave," he continued. "Well, we'd need to stop at a church first."

"Of course."

"And then an inn."

"Bash!"

"We'd need to make the marriage official, wouldn't we?"

Mary kissed his chest. "So after the wedding, and the inn, where would we go? I was thinking some place warm."

"The Italian lands?" he suggested cheekily.

"Oh no," said Mary with mock horror. "Too many Medicis."

"Hmm, yes. Portugal?"

"Do you really think we'd be welcomed in Portugal?" she asked dryly.

"Well, Mary, it seems you have alienated half of Europe."

"What about Spain? Somewhere along the coast."

"We'll get a little piece of land, with a little farm. I can hunt, and you can raise chickens."

"Goats," Mary corrected. "We had goats at the convent. I know how to milk them and make cheese."

"Do you really?"

"Does it surprise you?"

"I should know by now that nothing about you should surprise me." He kissed the top of her head. "So you'll have your goats, and my game, and we should be able to make a comfortable living."

"Will we have children?" There was a small catch in Mary's voice on the last word, and Bash held her tighter.

"Yes. As many as you want. A whole army of children."

"Not that many. Perhaps three or four? Boys, with their father's eyes."

"Girls, with their mother's smile."

"A few of each, then?"

Bash nodded, shifting them so he could hover over her. "And we would raise them, and watch them grow, and have children of their own. And be happy."

She stroked his face. "It sounds like a perfect life."

"It would be." He kissed her gently. "And I would make love to you every night."

Mary giggled. "Every night?"

"Mmm," Bash nodded, kissing her again with a grin. "And twice on Sundays."

"Twice on Sundays? Won't you be tired?"

"You're right." Bash flipped them over so that Mary was straddling him. She squealed with delight. "I guess you'll need to do some of the work."

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She'd been unsure, at first, and a little unsteady. But Bash had guided her hips, shown her the rhythm, and once she had caught it his hands had roamed over her back, her breasts, igniting sparks along her skin. They'd reached their completion together, quieter this time, but still intense.

"When did you know you loved me?" he asked in the dark. They were lying side by side, facing each other, soft words punctuated by soft kisses.

Mary considered. "I noticed you when I first arrived. I thought you were handsome and mysterious. But I didn't know what to make of you. You were so cheeky and always flirting, I couldn't tell when you were serious." She averted her eyes. "Lola said you had feelings for me, at the fair. Did you?"

"Yes."

"I didn't know."

"You didn't want to know," he challenged softly.

"I didn't want to know," she acknowledged. "And then you were always so kind to me, so brave." She kissed his palm. "You killed for me. And when we left you didn't push me or demand answers. You were simply by my side." She cradled his face. "You were always by my side, on my side."

"I never wanted to be anywhere else."

"I began to love you that week we were gone, and still more when we returned. But I truly fell," her voice caught. "When Isobel had her daughter."

Tears pooled in his eyes and he kissed her softly.

"The look on you face," Mary went on. "When you saw the baby. And all I could think was one day handing you your child. Our child." Tears spilled from her eyes and she wiped them away. "That's when I knew. And you?"

"When I saw you dancing with feathers in your hair."

"You didn't even know me then! Had we even spoken?"

"Didn't need to. I knew." He kissed her forehead. "I knew then, and I knew when it became clear I was willing to do anything to keep you safe, and I knew when you held my hand and flew off a cliff, and I knew when you called me a heretic. I've always known."

She barely heard the last of his speech, because her lips were already on his, drinking him in. They kissed for a long while, neither wishing to break apart. Finally, though, as all things do, it ended.

"Turn over," he whispered. "I want to hold in my sleep, if only of a few hours."

His arms wrapped around her, warmer than any blanket, and soon, too soon, they were asleep.

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She awoke to a gentle hand on her shoulder. The sky was still dark, but a soft grey was hovering near the horizon.

"It's too soon," she murmured. "We still have time."

"We don't," Bash said as he sat beside her. He was already dressed, even his boots. "I have to be gone before the castle awakes."

Mary sat up, covering herself with the sheet. "Write me, when you reach your destination." When he started to object, she continued, "Please. I just need to know you are safe."

He nodded. "There's something else." He took her hand in both of his and kissed its back. "When you marry Francis – "

"I don't want to discuss this." She tried to pull her hand away, but he held fast.

"When you marry Francis," he repeated. "You loved him once. You can love him again."

"I won't. I can't."

"You deserve to be happy."

Mary smiled sadly. "A cunning queen once told me that's the one thing queens can never be."

"Try. For me. Please try."

After a moment Mary nodded.

"And," Bash took a deep, shuddering sigh. "You have to consummate the marriage."

Mary looked away. "I know."

"No, Mary, listen to me. After what we did last night, you'll have to consummate the marriage. And if, in a few weeks, you find yourself with child…"

"Why are you saying such things?" she cried. "In our last moments together, why would you say such things?"

"Because they need to be said," he answered, voice breaking. "Mary, whatever child you have must be Francis'. Do you understand? You can't even let yourself consider any other possibility. Promise me." She nodded. "I need to hear the words."

"I promise." Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. "Now kiss me, one more time."

It tasted like sorrow, bitter and sweet. It tasted like hope, although none remained. It tasted like love, which could never be.

"I love you."

"I love you."

"Never doubt it."

"Always."

The sky was grey. It was time.

"I won't be able to watch you leave," she said. "So, I'm going to close my eyes, and when I open them, you'll be gone."

Bash nodded.

Mary closed her eyes. She felt his kiss on her forehead, heard his soft steps to the passage. There was a low thud as the door closed.

And then there was silence.

Mary sobbed. She sobbed until she was out of tears.

And then she stopped.

She washed her face.

Her hand ghosted over her abdomen, and she prayed that Bash had left her with child, a child with wild eyes and dark hair.

As her maids put on her clothes, she put on her mask. And when they set a small crown on her head, she was ready.

Ready to wed, for Scotland. Ready to rule, for her people.

Looking back, many years later, she would come to realize that was the morning she truly became Mary, Queen of Scots.


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